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Hot cha cha
Hot cha cha
Hot hot
Cha cha cha cha
She was twenty-six before she'd permitted another man to touch her, the young doctor who attended Arturo during his illness. He was handsome and kind, and his physician's hands had been soothing with their caresses. She had enjoyed the closeness, but when he had tried to deepen the intimacy, she had frozen. He remained patient, but each time his hands slipped beneath her clothing, she was assaulted with memories of the night in the metal pool shed, memories of the young men she had allowed to heave over her. The physician was too much of a gentleman to tell her she wasn't enough of a woman for him, and he disappeared from her life. She forced herself to accept the fact that she was irreparably damaged when it came to sex and resolved not to let herself grow bitter. After the heartbreak of Arturo's death, she found other outlets for her softer emotions.
In Manhattan, she surrounded herself with gentle, gay men, some of whom she held in her arms when they died. These men were the ones who received the love and affection she possessed in so much abundance. These were the men who took the place of lovers who would only have reminded her she was less than a woman.
"Hello, cuz."
She gave a strangled gasp and spun around to see Reed Chandler standing in a pool of light at the edge of the lawn, barely ten feet away.
"Still hiding in the bushes, Flea Belly?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Just paying my respects."
She was no longer a defenseless child, and she fought against the fear he still inspired in her. During the funeral she had been too numb to note the changes in his appearance, but now she saw that, although his features had matured, he looked much the same as he had during his college days. She imagined that women were still attracted to his gangster's good looks: the thick, blue-black hair, olive skin, and strong, stocky body. But the full lips that his various girlfriends had found so sensuous had always seemed merely greedy to her. That avaricious mouth reminded her of how much Reed had always wanted from life, and how much of what he wanted belonged to her.
She noted that he dressed more like a banker now than a gangster. His blue-and-white-striped oxford shirt and navy trousers looked custom-made, and as he lit a cigarette, she saw the flash of an expensive watch on his wrist. She remembered her father telling her that Reed worked for a commercial real estate firm. At first she had been surprised that he hadn't gone to work for the Stars, but then she had realized that Reed was far too wily to give Bert that much control over his life.
"How did you find me out here?"
"I could always find you, Flea Belly. Even in the dark, that blond hair of yours is hard to miss."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that."
He smiled. "I always thought it was cute, but if you don't like it, I promise, I'll mend my ways. Can I call you Phoebe, or do you want me to address you more formally?"
His teasing was gentle and she relaxed a bit. "Phoebe's fine."
He smiled and held his cigarette pack out to her. She shook her head. "You should give that up."
"I have. Many times." As he inhaled, she was again conscious of those full, greedy lips.
"So how are you getting along? Is everyone treating you well?"
"They're polite."
"If anyone gives you a hard time, let me know."
"I'm sure everything will be fine." She had never been less sure, but she wasn't going to admit that.
"Having Carl Pogue quit was unfortunate. If Bert had realized there was any possibility of that happening, I know he wouldn't have done this. Have you hired a new GM yet?"
"Not yet."
"Don't wait too long. McDermitt is too inexperienced for the job. It would probably be a good idea to let Steve Kovak make the final decision. Or I'd be happy to help."
"I'll keep that in mind." Her voice stayed carefully noncommittal.
"Bert liked manipulating people. He didn't make this easy on either one of us, did he?"
"No, he didn't."
